


Never Trifle With A Witch's Temper

by Elial_Shadowpine



Series: The Beauty of Temptation [1]
Category: Black Jewels - Anne Bishop
Genre: Also: Lesbians Rock, Black Jewels Deserves Its Own Trigger Warning, Canon Disabled Character, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Disability, Disabled Character, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Flashback: Infanticide, Flashback: Minor Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Matchmaking, Overly Imaginative In-Universe Purposes For Dildos, POV Lesbian Character, Physical Disability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 02:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9363512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elial_Shadowpine/pseuds/Elial_Shadowpine
Summary: Karla hasn't realized how lonely she's become until a strange Black Widow Healer shows up on her doorstep--sent by Jaenelle with legitimate official reasons, but the true reason is an attempt at matchmaking. Annoyed by her first love's meddling, Karla tries to push away the strange young witch, who has far too many similarities for Karla's liking, using the acerbic snark that had been so successful against interlopers in the past.Serys, however, remains unfazed by the Karla's temper, and tells her the story Jaenelle was so certain Karla would want to hear -- the discovery of a method for two women to spend their Virgin Night/s together, without fear of a feral male shattering her inner web, leaving her to forever wander the Twisted Kingdom.Of course, this wouldn't be a proper Karla story without explosions, snark, and a pissed off Lucivar...





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place two years following Karla's visit to Shalador Nehele in Shalador's Lady. Karla is 30, and Della is 13.
> 
> I'd like to briefly touch on why I chose to create an original character. Much as I tried, I couldn't find a canonical female character that is unattached (and not a Queen), except Wilhelmina, who doesn't fit the story I'm telling. I've wondered for years, between the Healers' difficulty in treating Karla and Jaenelle, how an autoimmune disorder would be addressed, given their peculiar nature. I have rheumatoid arthritis myself, so this is something I'm exceedingly familiar with. I decided this was the perfect opportunity to explore that idea.
> 
> Future Tease: I have Plans for a secondary plot that involve an (mostly, except for Jaenelle) unknown species of kindred in Glacia. They're polar bears -- and they're non-binary. I've always been a bit bugged by the strict gender roles, and the male/female dichotomy, so I'm looking forward to turning things upside-down. Also: Expect to see Scelties.
> 
> Trigger Warning Notes (INCLUDES SPOILERS):
> 
> Minor Character Death and Grief/Mourning: Karla is mourning the anniversary of Morton's death through parts of this chapter, as it is set on the anniversary of his death.
> 
> Flashback: Infanticide references a conversation in which Karla explains her phobia of pregnancy, referencing an experience she had as a Healer tending an abused pregnant witch. This is conveyed in dialogue to Lucivar and Serys (OFC). I wrote it clinically, since Karla "felt" still traumatized by the incident to me, so there is some emotional distance. I based the incident off the "pillow angel" medical horror case that went around the news some years ago. Warning: If you Google that, it's extremely disturbing.
> 
> If you'd like to avoid that scene entirely, since it's not plot-integral, the triggering portions begin after this line: "Serys eyed her, head tilted a tad to the side. "You're terrified of pregnancy, aren't you?"" and continue until this line, after which, you're safe, "An awkward silence followed, until Lucivar glanced at the window. Karla noticed the sun dipping below the horizon. "Say," he said, "isn't it about time for dinner?"" Ctrl-F is God.
> 
> Thanks in advance for reading, and I hope you like what I've got so far! I'd like to update regularly, but that'll depend on my life and study schedule. All comments and con-crit welcome and appreciated! I'm trying to keep this as canon-compliant up until the start of this story as I can, so if I've messed up consistency someplace, please point it out! Enjoy!

Serys, a Black Widow Healer, assisted in silence while Jaenelle's hands flew, grasping the correct dosages for every ingredient of the tonic she was making, listening as she gave the instructions for what felt like the thousandth time.

"There." Jaenelle wiped her hands and turned to Serys. "That'll take an hour to set. You've learned well, but it's come time for you to leave."

Anxiety churned in Serys's gut. "Have I displeased you, Lady?"

Jaenelle frowned. "After so long away from Terreille, you still fear? Well, I can understand that, maybe better than anyone else. No, quite the opposite. You've learned everything I can teach you, at least that wouldn't involve a lifetime study."

"But—"

The pale, almost unhealthily thin witch raised a forefinger, silencing her instantly. One did not disobey the Queen of Ebon Askavi, former or no. "I have have a task for you. It's in Glacia. I hope you don't mind snow."

 _Glacia? That's_ _… Karla, isn't it? That's her home. One of the coven._ The curiosity as to _why_ Jaenelle was choosing to send her on some sort of mission across the entire Realm of Kaeleer was almost too much, but she knew better than to ask for too many details.

See, too many details resulted in Gravediggers. Gravediggers, far too often, resulted in a one-way trip to the floor. Serys wasn't ruling it out for a later plan, though.

Jaenelle waited expectantly, her blue eyes scanning Serys, and she felt almost like her mind prodded for a response. "I—don't know," Serys said lamely. "I've never lived anywhere that's had much snow. I've never given it much thought."

Devious laughter bubbled out from the once and forever Queen, as if she knew a secret but wouldn't dare tell you the answer, since it would be too much fun to watch you find out on your own. "Oh, you will. Believe me, you will."

 

~*~

 

Snow fell in flurries, and Karla smiled as she thought of her adoptive daughter, Della, and her kindred companion, KaeAskavi. Della might be growing up, but she wasn't too old yet to have decided romping in the snow was too undignified. Karla snorted. _Like I ever decided I should give a damn about the stuffed shirts that insisted my behavior was "unbecoming" of a "proper lady." No male is the keeper of a witch's conscience._

Thankfully, Della showed all signs of having just as much piss and vinegar as Karla in her youth. Karla glanced over the pile of paperwork and sighed. She really _did_ need to hire a secretary, because she had far too little time left in her life to waste it on pointless bureaucracy.

Of course, the only reason she was bothering with the paperwork at all was distraction.

A sudden knock at the door demanded her attention, and her mood darkened. Everyone in her Court knew to leave her to her solitude, but today? Today, she had _demanded_ that, outside the event of a _jhinka_ raid or something of equivalent disaster, her privacy be respected. The only ones allowed past that barrier were her Master of the Guard and co-parent, Hagen, Della, KaeAskavi, and any of the coven or boyos if they decided a visit was in order.

But this? Karla narrowed her eyes. She didn't recognize the psychic scent of the witch on the other side of the door, though there was a slight whiff that she had been near someone familiar—but that could be something so banal as passing one of the coven on the street. It meant nothing.

_Hell's Fire. Might as well see what this presumptuous witch is doing here—and, Mother Night, there had better be a good explanation as to what she's doing in my private wing without an escort._

“Come,” she barked, directing her attention to the door.

This witch would quickly learn that Karla's solitude was a thing to be respected—or she would find residence elsewhere. Fast.

The door creaked open, and the very first thing Karla noticed was the slight hand gripping a cane, like her own, for support. Second, she glanced over the plump, black-haired witch, her dark golden skin revealing lineage from one of the long-lived races. A Green Jewel with an intricate setting lay slightly above her breasts, the hourglass sand full in the bottom announcing her completed training as a member of the Hourglass coven. She hesitated before crossing the threshold. "I hope I'm not interrupting you. If this is an inconvenient time, I can return later."

Karla snapped, "Let's see. A total stranger barges into my private sitting room without warning or notice. What could _possibly_ be inconvenient about that?"

The witch, who seemed to be in her mid-twenties, about five years younger than Karla, flushed. "Your pardon, my lady. I spoke with your Master of the Guard, and after I had explained my situation, he directed me here. He would have accompanied me himself, but an adolescent witch demanded his attention."

A soft smile crossed Karla's face, in spite of her annoyance. Hagen wouldn't have sent here without a Court escort if he had any doubt about her credibility. "That would be my daughter, Della. Prince Hagen and I share responsibility in her upbringing, after a vicious attack from Terreille left her orphaned."

"You are… wed, then?" the witch said, hesitation clear in her voice.

Karla raised an eyebrow and said, her voice caustic, "That, witchling, is none of your business. But I was curious, once, too, and lacking in tact, so I will answer. No, Prince Hagen and I share no romantic involvement. He loves Della, and it's good for her to have a father figure in her life."

 _Had Morton survived, we would be raising my little love together,_ she thought with savage bitterness, her heart still aching for the loss of the only male she'd ever trusted until Jaenelle had invited her to SaDiablo Hall when they were adolescents. _It seems like only yesterday, sometimes._

But today… today was the anniversary of his death. Karla never forgot.

"Now," Karla spoke in what she considered her Queen's voice, "You'd better have a good reason for coming here, bothering my Master of the Guard, and intruding on my solitude. I've earned my peace, on today of all days. Who are you, and what the hell brought you here?"

The witch crossed the threshold, limping, and stepped into the sitting room proper. Sunbeams and snow-light illuminated the room, accentuating her body. Originally, her skin had appeared pale, but within natural light, it was shaded with gold. Hayllian or Dhemlan, then.. "My name is Serys. Shall we dispense with formal niceties and speak bluntly?"

"That _is_ my preferred method of speech," Karla said dryly. "I can't stand the behavior of pompous nitwits trying to badger their way into my good favor. Like that's ever going to happen."

"First, I wish to apologize for my intrusion on this day. I would have left you to your grief, but I'm afraid the one that sent me expressed this as urgent."

"That's riddles, not blunt," Karla snapped.

Serys sighed. "Fine. I spent the summer at SaDiablo Hall. Better?"

 _If that's true, then Jaenelle's involved. What's the plotting little minx up to this time?_ Jaenelle, much as she adored her, loved nothing more than to meddle in the lives of those she loved—always, of course, with the intent of making things better.

"My family has an… unusual history, and my father eventually settled in Halaway. I suffer from a severe form of rheumatism, and, after meeting her acquaintance, Queen Sylvia insisted I go to SaDiablo Hall and request Lady Angelline's services as Healer." Serys quirked one side of her lip into a sardonic half-smile. "She didn't really give me a choice in the matter. I protested—we are only minor aristos—and then Queen Sylvia threatened to truss me up, stuff me in the Coach, and physically drag me before the Queen of the Dark Court."

"The Dark Court is no more," Karla remarked, curious about this strange witch. Sylvia was a soft touch, and would help anyone she reasonably could. What Jaenelle thought of this Serys intrigued her, and she loathed that at such distance, she couldn't reach her on even the darkest distaff thread.

Serys raised an eyebrow, and a sable flyaway fell into her face. "That's bullshit, and you know it. The Dark Court lives on in hearts and memories. Even if the Queen of Ebon Askavi no longer exists, Kaeleer's Heart does—and don't even _try_ to claim ignorance, because we both know that would a fresh, steaming pile of bullshit."

 _Well, I did ask her to be blunt._ Karla winced, because that hit a bit too close to home. "So Sylvia sent you to Jaenelle. What of it?"

"Do you want the long version or the short version?"

While the thought of banishing this intruder was tempting, Karla had to admit her interest was piqued. Jaenelle was definitely involved, but she'd let the story unfold—otherwise, it probably wouldn't make a damn bit of sense.

"Let's have it all out," she said. "How about we start with how a refugee from Terreille ended up in Queen Sylvia's Court. She's not exactly fond of Terreillans, and for damn good reason."

"I am intimately familiar, and I'd be the same in her place. My love for my once-home has long since turned to a burning hatred." Serys grimaced.

_It was hard enough for me with Hobart and his Terreillan allies—and I almost didn't survive it. What nightmares has this girl seen—or experienced?_

Karla drew in a deep breath, obviously trying to settle her nerves. "Sit down, girl. You're shaking. Should I send for some calming brew? I can tell this is hard to talk about. I understand."

Serys nodded, hobbled through the room, heavily leaning on her cane, and took a seat in the plush chair directly across from Karla's. "I wouldn't have asked—I despise being seen as weak—but I would appreciate it."

"I understand how it feels to be seen as weak," Karla said quietly, memories best left in the past threatening to push their way to the surface. _What would Morton think if he saw me now?_ She jerked her attention away from that painful thought and sent a request to the hearth witch who worked with her resident Healer over a distaff thread. "It should be here shortly. Please continue."

It took a moment for the young witch—although, she couldn't have been much younger than Karla, perhaps a few years, maybe five, at most—to compose herself. "My father is Dea al Mon, and he suffered from a solid case of wanderlust. Unfortunately, he made the poor decision to explore Terreille.One of Dorothea's pet Queens took him for a pleasure slave."

Serys made a sour face. "The witch that birthed me had no interest in raising a child, and so I was left with my father. Once that bitch of a Queen tired of him, he was banished from her Court. I was far too close to reaching the age of my Virgin Night, and the service fairs opened not too long after we were sent away."

The door opened, and Elenis, a lovely middle-aged witch with a kind face, ruddy red hair just beginning to gray, wearing a practical outfit of trousers and tunic. Karla approved, even if Uncle Saetan might express his frustration with the fact that neither the daughter of his soul, nor her dearest female friends in all the world, had terribly much patience for fancy dresses and gowns. Were they fun to dress up in for a Court function? Certainly. But every day? Damn that.

"The calming brew, my lady, and some nutcakes and sandwiches to nibble on." Elenis inclined her head. "Is there anything else I may help you with?"

Karla shook her head. "Not at the moment. Thank you for thinking of bringing food. It's not quite near dinner yet, and I'm starving."

Elenis curtsied and left the room, closing the door with a _snick_.

"Service fairs, huh?" Karla took a sandwich and turned her attention back to Serys, who had picked up the mug and was taking tiny sips. Probably, it was hot. Elenis didn't believe in creating brews that didn't come out boiling hot.

"Yes." Serys took another long sip, then reached for a nutcake. "I didn't find out about this until we—well, my father—returned to Kaeleer. We are aristos amongst the Dea al Mon, but had no wealth to speak of. The Queen of the Dea al Mon reached out and offered aid, but Father was too ashamed at what he'd been forced to endure. You see, Queen Ysabet had him shaved as soon as he 'outlived his usefulness," she said, her voice bitter to the bone.

Karla remembered Daemon's personal servant, Jo, an honorable and kind man, who had been shaved—and the resulting fury from the males that served the Queen of Ebon Askavi. In Kaeleer, this was a punishment reserved for only the most perverted—a "mercy," should the thrice-damned brute avoid being killed outright. Even with the knowledge that males were shaved in Dorothea and her pets' Courts as a "party trick" under the bitch's influence, it took time for many to come to trust him.

She yanked herself away from memories of the past, and gestured to Serys. "Continue."

Serys drained the remaining brew, its effects beginning to show. Somehow, she seemed less tense, less… rigidly controlled. _Not that I know anything about_ that.

"After Father turned down the Queen's offer, Queen Sylvia of Halaway extended an offer for a contract, with a guarantee of honorable work as a guard within her service. He accepted, and Halaway society greeted us warmly, despite our lack of wealth. I'd never been amongst a Court. As the daughter of a pleasure slave, Ysabet wanted nothing to do with me, for which I can only thank the Darkness. I had no idea how to behave.Gossip, which I pay little attention to, is that Sylvia's Court is a bit unusual in that regard."

A barked laugh escaped Karla. "She's spent time among the SaDiablos—and Jaenelle in particular. Sylvia never does anything the usual way. No matter how many times Uncle Saetan encouraged her to wear something more 'suitable' than trousers to important affairs. He must be thrilled that at least _one_ of the young witches he has made recent acquaintance of wears dresses."

Hints of a smile twitched at Serys's lips. "I'd prefer trousers, but I can't have anything restrictive around my waist because it aggravates my back. I have a health condition that has managed to stump even the most talented Healers. Terreillan Healers, well, I'm sure you can imagine how worthless _that_ pursuit was. Dorothea culled anyone she might consider a threat—which basically meant if you had any Jeweled strength to speak of and so happened to be female."

"I'm aware," Karla said, thinking of what Terreille had done to Jaenelle, the triple-gifted and extraordinarily powerful witch who would always own her heart and loyalty. "I nearly lost the dearest friend I've ever had to their depravity."

"I've lost many, myself," Serys whispered, her gaze dropping to her shoes. "Sylvia suggested I might spend time among the Dea al Mon, both to claim my heritage, and also to see if their Healers and famed hot springs would relieve my illness. Of course, the Dea al Mon, within their society, it was absolutely freakish that I knew nothing of basic self-defense. Chaosti offered to train me. I believe he owed Sylvia a favor or two," she said, with a touch of amusement.

Karla smiled. This young witch—Serys—was beginning to grow on her. She definitely had backbone, and didn't hold back. For a girl raised in Terreille? That was a rarity. Somehow, she had avoided the worst—or else, learned to compensate, or possibly even heal. It occurred to her suddenly that if she liked her, Jaenelle probably had, as well. At least, based on their conversation so far, Serys would have fit right in with the rest of the coven. "Chaosti doesn't hold back," she commented. "He's only second to Lucivar in how many bruises he can dish out.

Serys rolled her head back and looked skyward, with a drawn-out grown. "Don't I know it."

This caught her attention. Serys had said she'd spent a summer with the SaDiablos. Of course Lucivar would have insisted on training her—he refused to let _any_ witch remain unable to defend herself. But how close had she become to the SaDiablos, and if Serys had stayed that long, why hadn't she heard of it?

She couldn't remember the last times she'd written even Jaenelle more than a short update. Karla thought, guiltily, _I haven't kept in as close touch as I ought have since I returned from Shalador Nehele. I should've expected my door to be half broken down long before now._

"Chaosti, and many others I met in Dea al Mon, welcomed me into open arms as family. That didn't get me any leeway in the sparring circle, though. He drilled me in fighting technique until he was satisfied I stood a decent chance of survival, even if I didn't have the proficiency he would have preferred. Tell the truth, I didn't think I'd ever be able to fight with my broken wreck of a body, but Chaosti devised methods of offense and defense I could manage even with my limitations."

Karla looked at Serys in a new light. Here was a fellow witch who understood the pains of a body that failed—even if her own disabilities were caused by betrayal and poison, they were no less real than the failing body Serys had been born into. So many felt pity for her; it was all over their faces. Even Jaenelle, sometimes, with her own poor health, when she thought Karla wasn't looking—especially when she stumbled and had to catch herself on her cane before flying ass over teakettle.

 _This_ _… I never thought I would meet another like me in this. Someone else who knows the hell it is to live with a life limited by a body that can't function right—and who's willing to talk about it. Jaenelle…_

Well. Jaenelle considered herself fully healed, even though her body was a shadow of what it once was, and when she speculated she could reclaim the Ebony—if the boyos hadn't gotten to her first, Karla would have been next in line.Daemon still worried enough that he refused to take the chance of having a child, with Twilight's Dawn an unknown factor.

Serys paused a moment, likely noticing Karla's retreat into her own thoughts, and she met Karla's gaze with a smile. "I'm sorry. Just—memories. Please, go on. I want to hear the rest of your story."

This seemed to brighten Serys, as her face lit up like she'd just seen a Winsol tree with bushels of presents tucked underneath. "Well, as you probably can guess, the Dea al Mon were lost, too. They told me I was welcome to stay, but their Healers had exhausted their resources and couldn't help me. So I returned to Halaway, to live with Father."

She snorted. "Sylvia must watch Halaway like a hyperactive hawk, since she must've known I was back the moment I stepped into her her village. She paid me a visit the next day, and when I told her my people couldn't help—well, that's when she decided to stuff me in a box and haul me bodily to SaDiablo Hall. Either I could get my ass into the Coach voluntarily—that's a quote, by the way—or I could expect a visit from Lucivar to retrieve me. I decided the former was a better option."

That was it. Karla couldn't stop her laughter, ringing throughout the room. "That's Sylvia for you —and you made the right choice. _Nobody_ in their right minds wants to be paid a visit from Lucivar because they're being stubborn. He has a way of taking matters into his own hands. He's fair enough, but he doesn't hold back. I don't think he knows the meaning of the phrase. But doesn't Jaenelle reside in the Keep now?"

"She does. Sylvia sent word on my behalf, and apparently, the fact that nobody had been able to help piqued Lady Angelline's interest. Mother Night, I must owe the Queen of Halaway at least several thousand favors by now."

Karla chuckled, reached for the mug on her side table, and sipped at her fresh cider. "If I may ask, as a Healer myself, what is this illness that so many have failed to recognize and treat?"

A delicate hand, reddened and swollen at the wrist and finger joints, swept back the strand of dark hair that crossed Serys's eyes. "The closest anyone can guess is some sort of odd rheumatism. Even Lady Angelline herself was unable to name it, although she was able to create several tonics that have been immensely helpful. They aren't a cure, but they do relieve the pain and swelling, mostly."

Serys bit her lip. "Lady Angelline believes that my body has been deformed in some way. What should be defending my body is instead attacking my joints, causing swelling and slow deformation. And pain, as you can see. I must be extremely cautious in my use of my Jeweled strength, because if I overdo it, my rheumatism worsens for an unpredictable period of time. Could be a day or two, or weeks, or even longer. My moontime has the same result."

That made Karla shudder. "You have my sympathy. I have… similar troubles with my own body, though, thank the Darkness, it's not affected by use of my Jewels."

"Lady Angelline spoke a little bit about your experience, I think to maybe reassure me that I'm not alone." Serys looked directly at Karla's injured legs. "My body fails me for different reasons than yours, but I still have to be ridiculously cautious, else I could damage my body permanently, with no chance of a Healer being able to treat the damage. Should I misjudge my limits… well, there's some wounds you flat can't recover from."

Karla began to speak, softly, "Once, some idiot male made a snarky comment about my capability to rule as Queen with my injuries. I was an idiot, and stormed out of Snowsquall Hall. I was so mad, I didn't care where I was going. I just ran and kept running. KaeAskavi rescued me, because I'd drained the Gray almost to breaking, and my birthright Green was damn close, too. Far too close. And of course, KaeAskavi, the little tattletale, passed this on—and damn near the entire Dark Court showed up on my doorstep. You ever seen Lucivar pissed? No? Trust me. You don't want to. Take my word here. Anyway…"

Serys arched an eyebrow, the movement drawing attention to her bright gold eyes. Dea al Mon and Hayllian, huh? Well, Surreal would have company, if they hadn't met already. "Believe me, the last thing I want to do is piss off Lucivar. I think it'd almost be safer to piss off Saetan. Maybe."

Karla shuddered. "You really, _really_ don't want to compare Lucivar, Saetan, and Daemon Sadi to figure out who'd be the worst. See, I spent years at SaDiablo Hall. They've all got their own ways of dealing with anger, and each one of them are the worst in their own way—damn possessive, overprotective, pissy males. But we love them anyway. I didn't mean to interrupt, though."

Ebon-black hair shone in the light as Serys shook her head. "Don't apologize. I like hearing what you have to say, too."

Karla suppressed the sudden urge to smile. These days, the only people she was comfortable with were the remnants of the Dark Court and those close to it, Hagen, and her Steward, Arden. And Della and KaeAskavi, of course. As for a First Escort… none could hide their disturbance at her physical state, and only sought to climb their way through the ranks of aristo society. That she was beginning to like this stranger who appeared on her doorstep unbidden frightened her. The last thing she wanted was to get hurt—again.

The silence stretched a moment too long, and Serys cleared her throat, her eyes darting from their shared gaze. "It was Lady Angelline who suggested I come to you, because of my own skill as a Black Widow and Healer, and she also thought that the tonics she created and taught me make myself might help you too. There are also… other things that I confided that she swore you would want to know about. And…"

Serys stopped mid-sentence, an expression of uncertainty on her face.

"Well?" Karla said impatiently, thumping her foot on the floor. "If Jaenelle thought it was important for me to know, I want to hear it. Spit it out."

She still looked uncomfortable, but spoke anyway. "There are a few different things, all connected. Lady Angelline told me that the position of First Escort would have been filled by your cousin Morton, had he survived. Hagen evidently has been concerned, and sought Lady Angelline's advice."

 _Well, that explains the line of males that Hagen keeps trailing across my path. True, some of them aren't so horrible, but I refuse to take a First Escort until I find one I can have some amount of affection for. If only Hagen weren't such an excellent Master of the Guard, I might have chosen him—we've become close friends raising Della together, and he's a dear friend—and I trust him like no other male, except the SaDiablo males._ Karla sighed. It would figure that, once his efforts proved futile, he would go to the one person who knew Karla better than anyone else alive.

It didn't stop the fiery chill of ice from filling the room as she snapped to her feet, forcing her legs to remain stable, ignoring the pain that ignited and spread through like wildfire.

"Hagen asked Jaenelle to play matchmaker, to find an 'appropriate' male for me? Mother Night, what did she think that would even _do_? If you're here to male-hunt for me, screw that. That's your game? Get out, and go back where you came from," she snarled, feeling the ache of betrayal from her closest friend—and first love. Jaenelle. The feelings had never fully faded.

"No, no, no! Not that!" Serys shook her head wildly. She raised her hands in supplication, her gold eyes bulging in shock. "Lady Angelline—Jaenelle, I suppose I ought call her, though it still feels like a nobody like me should stick with formalities—"

"Serys," Karla said dryly, although still with an undertone of anger, both at Jaenelle and the feeling that this witch was playing games with her too, "absolutely _nobody_ who has spent more than a few days with Jaenelle calls her Lady Angelline after that. Well, I can think of an exception, but that's the damn monstrous bitch that Jaenelle was unlucky enough to be born to. They didn't last long at the Hall. Stop shivering like I'm going to set KaeAskavi and his friends on you. I'm not that much of a bitch. Worse I'd do is toss you out of this room on your ass and let you have a guest room until you could call a Coach back to Halaway. But if Jaenelle's in on this—I need to know, even if what I'm hearing so far pisses me off."

"Fine. Jaenelle and Hagen know you don't trust males—except for a very special few, who've worked hard to prove themselves."

It was well-known among her Court that Karla had no romantic or sexual interest in the male gender whatsoever. Even Morton, who she'd loved almost, but not quite, deeply as Jaenelle, didn't interest her _that_ way. Jaenelle… now, _she_ held more of her interest where _that_ was concerned. But why would Jaenelle have sent this witch as a Healer, a witch that even Jaenelle herself couldn't heal fully? Was it just a convenient cover story to make her sympathize?

 _No,_ she chided herself. _That's not Jaenelle's way. She doesn't do anything covertly. I'm not sure she even knows the meaning of the word. If she sent Serys here, there must be_ some _reason for it._

Serys let out a small sigh. "No, this has nothing to do with males at all. Jaenelle wanted you to meet _me_."

"Why you? It's not like you've got a cock and balls." _Screw tact. I want answers._

"This may be long," Serys warned, meeting her eyes once more, dark and serious.

Karla rolled her eyes. "Does it look like I need to rush off to some Court function or another? I've got time. So stop making me wait and get on with it."

"As you wish." Serys inclined her head, her lips quirking slightly as if there was something humorous that only she was privy to. "The Dark Court may have dissolved when Witch cleansed the Blood, but the changes made still ripple through reality. What's one more change going to matter? Who says the First Escort _has_ to be male? It's tradition, but every tradition has a time and place to be broken."

A wicked smile crossed the Black Widow's face, gold eyes twinkling. "Mind if I rest my feet on the table here? I'm afraid I don't see a footstool, and the swelling's starting to worsen."

Karla shrugged. "It's a table. It can be cleaned. And maybe traditions should be broken, but my position in Glacia is unstable as it is. The Court isn't happy that I've ruled without a First Escort for years, and I'm on guard constantly against assassination attempts. None so far, but after that traitorous bitch poisoned me, nearly killed me, and—you know what Jaenelle asked me when she saw what'd been done? Witchblood was one of the poisons, and there's no antidote. 'Arms or legs, Karla.' Either I lost the use of my arms, or my hands. Some choice."

Sympathy filled the other witch's eyes as she settled her boot-clad feet upon the blackwood coffee table. "I knew vaguely what had happened—that you'd been poisoned by a member of your Court—but not the details. That's a choice no one should have to make."

Quickly, Serys changed the subject, which relieved Karla to no end. "Jaenelle Angelline has promised her public and vocal backing. Along with her, Daemon Sadi, Saetan SaDiablo, Lucivar Yaslana, and the other Queens of the coven… need I continue? I said it before. The Dark Court doesn't exist _officially_ , but it still lives in the minds and hearts of the people. Not that this is said in Jaenelle's presence, mind. Queen Sylvia's Court still delights in her regular visits, and the Dea al Mon hold her in highest regards."

Suddenly aware of the aching in her own legs, beginning to burn, a sign that a flare was oncoming, Karla decided to take a tack from Serys's book and swung her own feet upon the table. If Uncle Saetan ever found out how she was using his precious, custom-made gift, he'd probably have an apoplectic fit. _He can deal. It's_ my _table, after all._

"It's a clever plan," Karla admitted. "But why you? If I were to choose a female to serve as my First Escort—"

She stopped mid-sentence as the thought hit her full blast. If she were to choose a female lover herself—it would be Jaenelle. But that was impossible. Jaenelle was devoted to Daemon, and he to her, and Karla genuinely wished them all the happiness that they both deserved, even if sometimes she felt a little melancholy and wondered, "What if?"

A shrug. "My history, beyond what I've already said, is complicated. That's probably an understatement. You see, my Virgin Night was spent with another witch."

Now _that_ caught Karla's instant, full attention. She stared raptly at the younger witch; although, if she were even part Hayllian, she might be older in years than any of the shorter-lived races of the coven. Either way, age was relative. "Tell me. How did you manage that? The Virgin Night has always required a male to guide the female."

 _And, if she's lucky,_ Karla thought grimly, _the male won't break her in the process._

Memories of her own night, guided by Lucivar, who was about as thrilled by the proposition as Karla was—meaning, not at all. But Uncle Saetan insisted, since the Terreillan influx of refugees and immigrants began to spread the taint across the Blood of Kaeleer, slowly at first, and then, it seemed, all of a sudden they were everywhere. There _was_ no choice—if Lucivar had not been willing to guide her, and he was one of the few males that she trusted enough to share that level of intimacy with, then she'd have been risking the all-too-probable chance of some tainted male taking her by force and breaking her inner web. The experience wasn't particularly pleasant for either, but they accepted it as cost of war.

"It's been accepted for so long that nobody ever thought to experiment. Maybe someone did, so long ago that it's been lost to history. Who knows? It's also… well, I'll speak candidly." There was that almost-infuriating partial-smirk of a smile. "Blood males want to think of themselves as important, a necessary part of a witch's coming of age. But it's been perverted over the centuries. Even the witchstorm didn't cleanse all those who delight in breaking young witches; it only cleansed the Blood of those directly tainted by Dorothea and Hekatah. Jaenelle Angelline wouldn't have survived a greater degree of purge."

"She almost didn't survive _at all._ I saw her once she came out of the kindred's healing webs. If my legs looked bad after Jaenelle drew the witchblood into them, she…" Karla shuddered. "She came out of the webs too soon; I can tell you that right now as a Black Widow and Healer. If she'd cleansed _all_ Blood tainted in some way, the Blood as a whole wouldn't have survived. Some would remain, but our population would've been decimated to a tiny fraction."

She shook herself free of memories. She said, more sharply than intended, "Now. How did you find a way around requiring males for the Virgin Night?"

"Well, this is going to take some explanation." Serys, sunlight illuminating golden skin, ran a hand through her shoulder-length hair, totally mussing it. "I went to a craftsman, a woodworking expert. I asked him to create an artificial, wooden phallus that could be attached to a harness, which would surround the legs and buttocks so that a female could penetrate another female as a male does."

Karla arched an eyebrow. "First, we call that a cock and ass around here, darling. Second, Hell's Fire, woman. How did you get the splinters out?"

"There  _is_ this thing called Craft, you know," Serys said, raising an eyebrow in return. "Even a Jewelless Blood has the basic Craft necessary to prevent any... mishaps."

"Mishaps. That's one way of putting it." Karla snorted. "So, what was the male's reaction? I imagine it was amusing."

Serys chuckled, the humor spreading through her face and body, her stiff posture relaxing. "Well, I wish I'd been able to capture an image of his face. Hilarious doesn't begin to describe it. I think he'd have been less taken aback if I'd asked him about the potential of a mating between one of the demon-dead and a mule."

Giggles escaped from Karla. She couldn't help it. Now she was _definitely_ liking this female, this… Serys. At the very least, she was amusing, and her information had the potential to change everything for females of the Blood… even if it came too late for her own use. She felt a pang of sadness at the thought that she could've asked one of the witches of the coven, those she trusted most. Perhaps even Jaenelle would have guided her through if anyone had known of this before.

 _What's past is past,_ Karla rebuked herself. _Besides, it's probably for the best it didn't happen. Sex with Jaenelle, even only to guide my Virgin Night, would have driven my half-in-love self right over the edge into a shining example of one ass-over-teakettle in love. Even though I still would have known she was meant for Daemon, and he for her, it wouldn't have lessened my feelings one little bit. No, it's a good thing we didn't know then. But now_ _… so much has changed… and this could be the answer for so many young witches._

Serys outright grinned as Karla's giggles subsided. "Should I continue, or do you need to laugh a little longer?"

"I'm good, thanks," Karla replied sardonically. "Seriously. Stop asking. Just… don't stop talking. Consider this a highly emphasized request from the Queen whose Territory you're visiting. Anyway, about that craftsman…"

"When you put it that way…" Serys trailed off, then brightened. "He was very confused as to why I'd want such a thing. I made some… well, straight up innuendo. I paid well, more than his work was worth, to tell the truth. He probably expected me to haggle, but I gave him the asking price, in hopes of keeping his fool mouth shut."

Karla frowned, concerned. "Money isn't always enough. He could be talking about it. Maybe it's a joke to him, but there are others who would take it seriously and consider it a grave threat."

"What's he going to say? All he knows is some eccentric half-breed witch commissioned a bizarre sexual aid. Blood society, especially in Terreille, but Kaeleer too, is so wrapped up in the concept that a witch must be guided through her Virgin Night by a male that—well, can you think of _anyone_ who might question the _true_ nature of the device?"

A few scant seconds passed while Karla considered. "Jaenelle, or Witch, would. Maybe some of the coven. But not the males. _Maybe_ Daemon or Uncle Saetan, since they often think outside of the confines of traditional Blood society."

Her heart ached, missing her true family, her coven, and the males who served. _I'll have to make a visit soon. It's been too long. Depending on what else Serys has to say, this might make for a good excuse to get away from Court and spend time with Jaenelle and all._

Within a millisecond, a thought occurred—one that could be extremely dangerous. "The male who created this. It couldn't be anything _but_ memorable— and even people who'd normally keep their mouth shut'll gossip when they're drunk enough."

A dark smile crossed Serys's face, and her gold eyes shone with a fierce bloodthirst, bottled rage only barely contained below the surface, but Karla could sense it. Her voice was calm as she spoke. "That's why my coven killed him. If he blabbed our secret, we'd be hunted down and killed—that is, if they were merciful enough to grant us a quick death. It was necessary, even more so once we found out he had a particular taste for breaking young witches. Let's just say he deserved his death—and worse than it. It's a pity he never had a chance to meet the High Lord of Hell directly, but we couldn't chance him becoming demon-dead and still able to reveal our secret. No, we finished the kill. Thoroughly."

Karla shuddered, remembering her Uncle Hobart's hands groping her breasts, squeezing her ass, trailing fingers along her flesh, and disgust roiled in her guts. It was a violation, but there were many ways in which it could have been worse. He'd never attempted outright rape, although he'd shown his insanity in repeated seduction attempts that led to complete rebuke and snarky commentary on Karla's part. The important thing was, her inner web was safe.

She couldn't say that for the servant girls he used as living toys, existing only for his own sadistic pleasure. Karla had been near helpless to stop it, except to provide those she could with coin, supplies, and a Coach to wherever they wished to flee—the more she could free before they fell prey to violation, rape, and high risk of their inner web's destruction and resulting descent into the Twisted Kingdom.

But the "luxury" of escape wasn't available to her, not as the only Queen of her generation born to Glacia. She had a duty to her people, and she wouldn't abandon them, no matter what she had to suffer through until she became of age to assume rule of Glacia in her own right.

Karla shook herself back into the present. It seemed to be a day for melancholy and bitter memories. "What happened after?"

A glint flashed in Serys's eyes. "Our coven found that it worked, just as I'd hoped. We discovered that a Virgin Night between two women, using an artificial phallus—or cock, as you so charmingly put it—is sufficient."

Karla startled, knocking over the cane resting against her chair. " _What?_ "

"Need I repeat myself? I suspect the idea that males are imperative to a successful Virgin Night is based on an assumption that it is male energy that provides the needed elements. Given our results, I now believe it's—ridiculously—as straightforward as breaking a simple membrane."

"But… wouldn't that mean that a female could use it upon herself and complete her Virgin Night alone?" Karla wondered aloud. _That_ would also be one hell of an about-face.

Serys shook her head. "We experimented with that, too. It didn't work. My suspicion is that a Virgin Night _does_ require the energy and intimacy of a partner. Just, that partner needn't be male."

 _My brain is going to dribble out my ears. This witch is about as radical as Jaenelle when she gets off on one of her brilliant ideas. Not that those ideas aren't often correct—well, except for that one incident with the rainbow Sceltie._ "So, why hasn't anybody thought of this before? Why you? Why now?"

Serys's cheeks dimpled ever so slightly as she smiled, and she shrugged lightly. "Male pride, I suspect. What would it do to the males—really, their egos—if they were no longer absolutely necessary for the Virgin Night? How would they react when witches decided they would rather trust a fellow witch instead of risking misjudging a male's honor and integrity? How do you think the remaining tainted males of the Blood would react if witches made it harder for them to break? That's why I pursued this in the first place, even if some of my coven thought I was stark raving mad. It was needed, and critically urgent."

"You did this for a specific reason? What was that? Explain." Karla tilted her head, becoming even more intrigued as the witch talked. Part of her thought this must be madness. How could something this significant have been overlooked for the entirety of known history?

Serys let out her breath slowly, and said quietly, "I have a—very—distant relative, and every last one of the males vying for her Virgin Night would have broken her. They wanted power, the _thrill_ "—disgust and contempt dripped from her voice as she spoke that single word—"of breaking a witch and leaving her a mere shadow of herself."

Anger boiled under the surface of her words as she continued, "This is why I had the devices created. I made a surprise visit, slightly rude given that we're cousins thrice removed, but I didn't care. I told Alina of my experiment. I asked if she was aware of the manner of male that courted her, and she was, but knew of no escape. She didn't have the money or ability to flee. So I told her of my theory and asked if she would be willing to participate in the experiment."

"And?" Karla tried to contain herself, but couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice. _Mother Night, this is past anything I'd ever imagined possible. Then again, my life seems to revolve around "That shouldn't be possible." I really should've gotten used to it by now, instead of being surprised. Hell, I didn't think anything else_ could _surprise me after Witch._

"I guided her through her Virgin Night. As I said, it was successful. She came through it whole and unbroken. Perhaps with a wee bit of an infatuation, too, but, though she's sweet, kind, and intelligent, we've very little in common beyond surface subjects you'd discuss at a Court function. When those predators calling themselves males continued to harass her, even though they could tell she'd been through her Virgin Night already, my coven and I secreted her away, to one of ours own's dear aunts, who is protective, respects confidences, and happened to be in need of an assistant. After, my coven and I continued to experiment."

Excitement pounded in Karla's breast. "You sound so calm and collected. This could change _everything._ My own Virgin Night… Lucivar aided me, an act of kindness, and I trusted him as much as I could trust any male, but… I simply have no attraction to males at all. Not romantic, not sexual, nothing more than friendship, and that only with those males who have proved their trustworthiness repeatedly."

She continued, "Effectively, that means the Dark Court, the kindred, and the odd male here and there. I went to Shalador Nehele by request, three years ago, as Black Widow and Healer to tend to Queen Cassidy after the foolish girl overextended herself and let the land drain her dry. If her male hadn't pulled her out when he did, she'd have broken herself back to basic Craft."

Serys gasped audibly. "Did she recover?"

"She did. I met the males in her First Circle while I was there. Given more time around them, I think I could come to trust them. But… Serys… every single male I have ever trusted, besides Morton, and we grew up from infancy together, has been vetted by Jaenelle. I don't think I could trust _any_ male without her assurance of the strength of their conviction regarding upholding their honor. I've had far too many experiences with males who treat honor as a mask like a Sceltie in a sheep suit, who will ditch their supposedly-intrinsic honor."

Serys burst out laughing. "A Sceltie in a sheep suit? That's one hell of a mental image! You're gonna have to share that one with the coven, you know."

Karla grinned. "Of course I will. I'll wait until everyone's at dinner and Uncle Saetan is taking a drink of yarbarah. Wonder if that one'll make him choke and get that look like he's about to strangle someone."

"I'm intimately familiar, since I've done a thing or two to receive that threat, too," she returned dryly. "Returning to subject, this has the potential to help witches that aren't like you and me."

"Like?"

"Sweetheart, I'll fuck a Sceltie before I fuck a Blood male," Serys said, her voice far too serious. "Or a landen male, for that matter. Any male, really. My interest is in females, and females _only._ There are witches who aren't particularly interested in others of their own sex, but given the choice between a fellow witch who may wish a reciprocal Virgin Night and taking a chance on a male that could well be lying about his true nature and rob her of everything that makes her a witch? I've heard many witches say, only among others of their sex, that they wish there was another way."

Serys made a face. "Besides, it's not like all males treat Virgin Nights as a positive, caring, sensual introduction to sex for a witch who's come of age. Oh, there are still honorable males who approach it that way—I'm certain that is the case for those of the Dark Court, or Jaenelle never would have accepted their oaths. But the fact of the matter is there are far too many males who wouldn't know honor if it smacked them upside the head with a cast iron skillet."

Karla barked a laugh. "Remind me to tell you the skillet story, with Marian and Lucivar. You'll about choke yourself laughing. Later, though."

"I'll consider that a promise," Serys said with a wink, and shifted in her chair, her face belying discomfort. "But, this is a diversion from your original question, if a needed one. You asked, why did Jaenelle send me, and now, of all times."

"You're right." Karla straightened in her chair. "I thank you for what you've told me, and believe me, I'll be thinking about this for a good long while. But, curiosity is going to eat me alive if you don't spill it. Kiss kiss," she said with a smirk.

Serys took a deep breath, obviously nervous and gathering courage. "A moment, please… all right. Jaenelle… she doesn't want to push, and I've basically been ordered to tell you if anything in your Court feels the slightest bit off. She told me that you spend enough time sequestered away from your Court and First Circle that their continued loyalty concerns her, if they rarely see their Queen. If it should be that _I_ am the problem, I am to leave Glacia immediately, on the spot, grab the nearest Coach and ride the Winds.

"I've spent time with Jaenelle, I've studied healing and the Hourglass Craft with her, and I received some lessons on finer points from Saetan. I lived at the Hall for a little over six months, so it isn't like Jaenelle saw me only as a patient in her capacity as Healer. She grew to know me, and… we discussed this. She requested this from me, but only if I was comfortable. I thought about it a lot, and…"

"All right, _what_ in the world is _this_ that you keep talking about it," Karla's voice was tinged with frustration, her mind about ready to go mad with all the questions that spun through. "Stop acting like I'm going to bite your head off and just say it. Mother Night, it's not like I'm going to _hurt_ you. Even if what you say pisses me off, Jaenelle sent you. That's enough for me. The point. Get to it."

Serys paused a moment, eyes studying Karla's face, like she was deciding whether or not to risk it. _Dammit, witchling, what happened that you behave like a scared bunny rabbit?_

"You'd better remember that if this pisses you off," Serys warned. "Fine. Jaenelle wants you to consider me for the position of First Escort. If… romantic feelings should develop, perhaps even Consort, later." Serys's golden cheeks reddened slightly, a blush spreading. "Don't look at me. I wasn't the one that came up with this idea."

Karla's jaw dropped, and she stared in shock as goosebumps pricked across her skin, tingling, shivering—an alien sensation, living in the extreme chill of Glacia. As the words sunk in, she began grumbling. "Oh, no. I believe you. This is _absolutely_ the kind of thing Jaenelle would think up. Can't say it's the craziest one, but it's up there. I swear, that witch delights in attempting to turn everyone's hair white. Not that she's going to have much luck here—my hair turned white long before I knew her. Maybe she's trying to make it fall out."

"That definitely sounds like the Jaenelle I met," Serys agreed cheerfully. "She might drive everyone who loves her to distraction, but that's why—well, one of the reasons—we love her."

"Let me repeat this, just in case something's messed with my hearing. Jaenelle—and Hagen—are trying to matchmake me with _you_?"

"Basically? Yes."

Karla pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. "I've done without a First Escort for well over a decade. Why does Jaenelle think it's so important I get one right away?"

Slowly, a dark, haunted expression crossed Serys's face. "Sweetheart, how close are you to your First Circle?"

"Close enough," Karla replied guardedly.

"Hasn't Hagen been encouraging you to spend more time among your First Circle and Court?"

Karla paused, remembering his reminders of court functions and encouragement for her attendance, which she regularly knows. "Yes… what's that got to do with anything?"

"Mother Night." Serys rubbed her forehead. "Hagen took a short leave of absence to deal with some personal affairs recently, didn't he?"

"Yes… Look, get to the point already."

"Fine. Jaenelle asked me to be present for this conversation because she thought my experiments would prove useful. Hagen's 'personal affairs' were a visit to Jaenelle at the Hall, because he is extremely worried for your safety, and felt that his warnings were being unheeded. Are you aware that there are several in your Court, and even amongst your First Circle, those who should have earned your absolute trust, who take pleasure in breaking young witches?"

The blood drained from Karla's face. _No. Not again. Not here. Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. Not here._ "Who are they? I'll have those bastards shaved—no, I'll kill them personally. Let me introduce them to the 'Ice Queen's' preferred form of justice."

 "I agree with the sentiment," Serys said mildly, "but Jaenelle believes this has happened _because_ you've secluded yourself from nearly everyone save Della, KaeAskavi, and Hagen. Tell me, do you even _know_ the names of the males that encompass your First Circle?"

 _How dare she?_ Rage throbbed through Karla like it was one with her very heartbeat. She began to deliver a vicious insult, but stopped barely a second before letting loose. First Circle males _had_ come and gone, over the years. After awhile, any that passed Hagen or Arden's muster were approved, while Karla refused to even coordinate a personal audience to meet the aspiring males in question, trapped in the maelstrom depths of her own depression and sorrow. Sudden realization smacked her upside the head. _Mother Night, but I've screwed this up. How do I fix this?_

But that didn't quench the outrage at this peculiar little witch meddling in _her_ own affairs. Karla said tightly, "That's none of your business."

"No," Serys agreed, with a moment's pause. "But it is Jaenelle's. I'll be direct here. Your sudden anger, aloofness—this is your 'Queen' face, isn't it? It's the only face anyone else sees. Am I wrong?"

That took Karla aback. Even in "Queen" mode, she was abrasive enough that most took it for the entirety of her personality—not that she wasn't, but there was more to her than that alone. Maintaining the deception suited her well. She toyed with the thought of lying to this witch, this stranger who'd shown up on her doorstep, without warning, bearing fanciful stories that she only wished could be true—but the idea of intentional deceit felt _wrong._

 _Truth time, I suppose. May the Darkness have mercy._ "Yes," she managed to choke out. "Yes, it is. I don't know how you saw through it, and part of me is furious that you not only saw it but threw down the gauntlet and demanded an answer. I won't lie."

Compassion emanated from Serys, enough to be visibly perceptible. She spoke in a low tone that communicated care as much as the words themselves. "You don't have anything to fear from me. I won't judge you. Truthfully, I want to get to know the _real_ Karla, not the face of Queen Karla of Glacia, the face used for formality and political machinations."

Serys stretched and leaned into the armchair, sinking into the soft Arcerian cat pelt. Karla felt a twinge of regret. It had been a gift, freely given, her dear friend Veraal's dying wish. "For remembrance," he'd said.

So, despite her reluctance, Karla had fulfilled her promise. Guilt still bothered her from time to time, because of those Terreillan bitches who sent their pet males to hunt down kindred for pelts, horns, whatever they could get their greedy hands on.

_Enough distraction. This is serious._

Serys remained silent, eyes flickering across Karla, calmer than before. For the first time, Karla studied her appearance. She'd have to have been dead to not notice the witch was attractive—and internally chided herself, because Uncle Saetan _certainly_ would have noticed. A hint of a smile quirked at her lip. The coven had made him choke more than a few times when they played dress-up and decided a competition for who could succeed in producing an outfit that would make males drool. None were particularly surprised when Uncle Saetan took one look, turned on his heels, stormed into his office, and slammed down Black shields.

They probably shouldn't have giggled. But it _was_ funny.

As for Serys… Karla returned her gaze. Black hair, slightly wavy, but not curly, grazed her shoulders. Intelligent gold eyes, her Hayllian heritage, gleamed. The tip of her nose turned upward slightly, but it was more cute than stuck-up. She wore a simply cut forest green dress with bell sleeves. The waist cut just under the breasts, providing a touch of lift, not that Serys seemed to have particularly much in the way of bust. _But, neither do I,_ Karla thought, remembering describing her breasts once as "bee stings."

Perhaps most notable, and far more meaningful to Karla, was the fact that Serys held herself with absolute confidence. Not arrogance, not hubris, nothing more than unmistakable conviction and self-assurance. But after everything she'd told Karla, why shouldn't she hold faith in herself and her capabilities?

The silence had gone on far too long. _First move's mine._ Karla grinned wickedly. "You want to see the real me? All right, then. You're in for it. No take-backsies. Kiss kiss."

Serys laughed, her face lighting up, her hair swaying. The light shining in from the window evinced twinkling eyes. There— _that's_ what it was. Serys, a stranger, someone who'd never met Karla before an hour prior, a witch who survived the horrors of Terreille—and yet, she showed no signs of fear whatsoever. In fact, Serys appeared entirely safe and at home in Karla's presence.

It hit her like a splash of Glacia's chilliest water when the realization shook her. She couldn't say the same of her First Circle— _any_ of her First Circle except for Hagen and Arden, who she trusted implicitly. But no one else. Serys— _dammit_ —was right. She'd been remiss in her duties as Queen, and she'd lost track… and perhaps even a little of herself.

Well, she'd just have to rectify it, now, wouldn't she?

But that meant spending time in Court. Karla's gut clenched, dreading the thought of appearing once again in Court, mingling among the gentry and nobility, listening to all manner of immaterial conversations that went no deeper than the surface. After her time with the coven and the Dark Court, it was difficult, to say the least, to interact with those who seemed to have nary a care save their own pretensions and naked self-interest.

"It would be easier," Karla whispered, breaking the silence once more, "to remain a recluse, hidden away from Court, ignoring the pointless political machinations and overly exaggerated melodrama. It's what they've come to expect. I can work with my Master of the Guard and Steward to discover and punish those tainted males."

"The question is, what's best for Glacia?" Serys pressed. "This involves more than yourself, Karla. Indeed, you could have these particular males dealt with, but without your presence, this won't be the end. It's like trying to rid a house of fleas, except with far greater consequences. Besides, isn't it about time Della—and KaeAskavi—should be introduced to Court life? If the adolescent witch I passed, walking alongside a great Arcerian cat, is Della, it's quite clear that she is a Queen in her own right. Is Della heir to Glacia?"

Cold fury sent gooseflesh raising across her flesh, and Karla snarled, inhumanly, lurching forward until her upper body hovered over the coffee table separating the two. "You leave my daughter out of this."

Serys's gaze didn't waver. "It's a reasonable question. Answer it."

"Bitch."

"Guilty as charged. Now, are you going to answer, or are we going to chase each other in circles for the next hour? Because trust me, I can keep this up just as long as you can." Serys's gaze didn't waver even a tiny bit, her chin set defiantly.

"I'm going to strangle Jaenelle the next time I see her," Karla muttered, loudly enough for Serys to hear, though her expression remained unchanged. "Fine. You win this one, bitch. But don't think I'm forgetting it anytime soon."

"Do I _look_ like I left half my brain buried somewhere in backwoods Terreille?" Serys said, her tone exuding sarcastic disdain. "Give me _some_ credit."

Karla glared. What to make of this witch? One moment, sweet and kind, the next, harsh and unrelenting. _Jaenelle sent her. She trusts her. Even if the witch has the exceptional talent of getting under my skin without negative intent, I can trust Jaenelle. She must have a reason. Even if I've absolutely no idea what that is._

"Going back to the topic at hand," Karla retorted, "I haven't broached the subject with Della. She's a child. I never truly had a childhood; yes, Morton and I got into mischief, but Uncle Hobart was always there, waiting, watching. I could never let my guard down. I knew, ever since I was little, that I would be Glacia's Queen, and that… that weighed heavily on me. It's such a massive responsibility."

 "While this is entirely factual, Glacia will need a strong Queen to assume control of the Territory when it is the appropriate time. Wouldn't it be better for Della to begin learning from you now, rather than perhaps having to figure it out all on her own, while _actually_ ruling as Queen of Glacia?"

The thought sent aftershocks through Karla's mind, and she shivered. "I… I hadn't really thought about it that way."

"So I gathered," Serys responded dryly. "Karla… may I express my honest opinion?"

Karla arched an eyebrow, looking at Serys quizzically. "Isn't that what you've been _doing_ this entire time?"

"Not entirely. There are thoughts that are not meant to be shared, as they are needlessly harmful. I'm sure you've had some unkind thoughts about me during this conversation."

Sheepishly, Karla looked everywhere _but_ in Serys's direction for a few moments. Finally, she sighed, and admitted, "All right, you've got me. Do you have some sort of fixation on being right all the time?"

"I believe that's called 'human nature,'" Serys quipped.

Karla grumbled under her breath. "Since you've given valid, logical reason with compelling merit, I'll accede to beginning lessons in statesmanship to Della—and KaeAskavi, because, while it will surely be unusual, I can't see Della ruling as Queen without him, the other half of her soul, as one of the triangle. Whether Steward, Master of the Guard, or First Escort, I can't say. Although, it would be most amusing to see heads spin should a kindred hold the position of First Escort."

"If Della has as little trust of males as you do," Serys pointed out, "Della very well might choose KaeAskavi as First Escort. It would definitely make a decided impression."

Karla couldn't help but snort at the mental image of Court stuffed shirts reacting to a kindred—and an 800 pound Arcerian cat, at that!—in the position of First Escort. Unless she chose to step down from her position prematurely, she would be dead when Della took the role of Queen of Glacia.

 _Although,_ Karla thought, _if I should transition to demon-dead, that doesn't necessarily mean I can't sneak a peek, so long as I avoid Uncle Saetan._

He'd probably notice anyway. That one not only had eyes in the back of his head, but installed across half of Kaeleer, or at least it seemed like it, given how he always seemed to know what was going on before anyone else did.

"Karla," Serys said softly, reaching out to graze her hand lightly. "Jaenelle sent me here for more than one reason. Yes, I've created an innovative alternative option that could save the lives of thousands of witches, but no witch will become pregnant by these means. This is _only_ meant to offer witches a significantly higher chance to survive their Virgin Night intact."

Several rather lascivious thoughts flooded Karla's mind, and she tried to suppress the hotness in her cheeks, without success. "I can think of a few other uses," she said cautiously.

"Absolutely," Serys agreed without a moment's hesitation. "There are those like you and I who have no sexual attraction whatsoever to males, just as there are males who aren't attracted to females. And, there are some who are attracted to both sexes. Both sexes could find appreciation in this device as a sex aid."

"Of course. And, unlike an actual cock attached to an actual male, it can't get me pregnant. That's a bonus right there."

Serys eyed her, head tilted a tad to the side. "You're terrified of pregnancy, aren't you?"

"Any sane witch should be!" Karla exclaimed, followed by a sigh. "I've been a Healer for far too long, and seen too much. Pregnancy is usually—but not always—intended, and it requires unyielding trust in the male involved. And there will always be males who are wrong, _tainted._ "

A memory tugged at her, one she'd tried to force into the dark recesses of her mind for the past year, wishing that the Darkness would be merciful and take it away into its song.

Serys, the little bitch, had the temerity to notice. "There's more, isn't there?"

"I don't see why it's any of your damn business," Karla snapped. "You've got a lot of nerve, barging in on me with your stories and questions and prying—"

The golden-skinned imp leaned forward, steepling her fingers much in the way Uncle Saetan did, her eyes glittering. "Everything you say is true. But I'm supposed to report back to Jaenelle. Do _you_ want to explain to her that you kicked me out the door because I called you out on your bullshit and offended your delicate sensibilities?"

Rage blew through Karla, and an ancient, priceless vase in the corner exploded. "Delicate sens—" she cut off with a string of Eyrien curses.

"I understood that," Serys said dryly.

At that precise moment, before Karla had a chance to deliver a cutting retort, an Ebon-Gray presence stepped through the Gray-locked barriers. Karla didn't need to look to see that it was Lucivar. The other ass who couldn't mind his own damn business. Glancing up, noticing the unsheathed warblade in hand—she swore he was about naked without it—Karla snapped, "And what do _you_ want?"

Lucivar arched an eyebrow, as his gaze set on Karla, then Serys. "There were explosions."

"There was _one_ explosion, prick," she snarled.

"Uh-huh. Want to tell me why you decided the room needed a good explosion?"

" _Someone_ can't leave well enough alone." Karla curled her hands into fists, gritting her teeth, as she met the Eyrien's calm gaze. He wasn't on the killing edge. That was good, at least. Especially as a Queen, she could bring down a Warlord Prince from the killing edge, but right now, if there were any chance of it working, she'd prefer to drop him off a very high cliff-face.

"So. Jaenelle sends a young witch who's smart and maybe a bit too much like you, and you're throwing a pride-fueled tantrum. Am I missing anything?"

Serys remained quiet. Evidently the Queen had experience with Lucivar. No surprise if she'd spent any time at the Hall or the Keep, truthfully. Lucivar had probably insisted she train just as the rest of them had.

Lucivar sheathed his blade. "I'm waiting."

"It wasn't like that—!"

"Try the other one. It has bells on," he said with more than a hint of sarcasm. "We can play this two ways, witchling. You can either tell me what pissed you off off enough to blow up pottery, or you can babysit Daemonar for a week."

She stared at him, eyes wide. "You wouldn't do that," she said faintly. Daemonar was difficult enough for the man he was named for to keep up with. There was _no_ way that she could watch the endearing yet infuriating little brat for a day, much less a week.

Serys broke out in hysterical giggles.

That broke Karla's attention. She snapped to the young witch, and she said, snarkily, "How about you share with Lucivar and I what you find so amusing."

Those gold eyes glittered, and she opened her mouth to speak, but Lucivar interrupted, "Her first week at the Hall, Serys learned the hard way that I don't bluff. Didn't you?"

Furious nodding.

"So, Karla, you've learned that lesson once already. Do I need to repeat it?"

"Screw you," she muttered under her breath. _To think I'd almost forgotten how infuriating Lucivar can be. Evidently, I've been here in Glacia too long._

"No thanks," he said dryly. "Marian would kill me. And you might be a triple caste Queen, but she's my wife, and by definition, scarier. You're still not answering the question."

Karla looked from one to the other, both focused on her. "I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

"That's the first smart thing you've said since I walked in the door, witchling." Lucivar vanished his warblade and used Craft to slide the couch she kept conveniently on the other side of the room to right behind him. He sat down, splaying his legs and leaning forward. "Now. You're going to talk. Or I'm going to get Jaenelle— _and_ Daemonar."

"Mother Night," Karla muttered. "What have I done to deserve this?"

"Want a list?" Lucivar grinned. "Perk up, witchling. When Jaenelle sent Serys here, I insisted on accompanying her. I've known you long enough to know there might be some… complications."

"And since when are you a counselor of any sort?" Karla shot back.

Lucivar reached forward and tapped her on the nose. "One, you should've blocked that. Two, I don't care. I've been listening in. Nobody's surprised you don't want to be pregnant, witchling, not with your health and not since you have Della and KaeAskavi, who are _almost_ enough to make up half a young Eyrien boy. But I could scent your fear. What scared you so much?"

Karla blanched, the memories swirling like a twisted nightmare she couldn't escape from. Terror raced through her blood like her very cells, and her gut churned. _No, no, no._ "I don't want to talk about it."

"Something I've learned through a great deal of difficulty," Serys spoke softly, "is that the hardest things to talk about are what we need to talk about most."

"Bitch," she said, half-hearted, because she knew that Serys was right even as her mind screamed. "Lucivar, get some whiskey from the liquor cabinet over there? I'm going to need it."

He complied without a word of complaint or snark, pouring her two fingers of the amber liquid, and set the bottle on the coffee table. Karla took a sip, the smooth fire spreading across her tongue and then through her belly once she swallowed.

"All right," she whispered, staring at the whiskey glass in her hands. "A year ago, a Healer petitioned me to treat an older witch who was suffering complications from pregnancy. That wasn't unusual. Older witches have more difficult pregnancies, too, and she was a Sapphire Jeweled witch, to boot. But I didn't expect what I found."

She took another sip, trembling. "The male who had impregnated her—she wanted the child, badly, but he was draining the Jewels—wrong. It wasn't hurting her, but it was twisting the babe, in ways I couldn't fully predict as a Healer."

Lucivar snarled, and the temperature dropped instantly.

Karla's eyes snapped to him, but Serys spoke first. "Leash it, Prince. This is difficult enough for her to talk about without needing to worry about your temper."

With obvious difficulty, Lucivar pushed it back down. "What happened?"

She shrugged. "There was nothing I could do. I could only perform an abortion, provide the witch with a position in Eighth Circle, and—I almost had the man shaved, but since the greatest crime was against the babe, I executed him personally."

Tears started streaming down her cheeks, and she didn't even bother to wipe them away, thought of that twisting fetus haunting her memories. "There was nothing I could do for the poor witch. She's never had another chance at a child birthed by her. She could adopt, of course, but—that wouldn't have been her only option if not for a male who—"

"Who what?" Lucivar said, danger behind his words he didn't bother to hide.

"Mother Night. It's like something out of the old stories of Terreille under Dorothea and Hekatah. The male didn't want the child to die. He wanted a child who would always be a child, who would never grow, who would always be their…" Karla gagged on the words. "Their 'pillow baby.' Those words were in his mind when I stripped him of his barriers to find out _why_."

"That's sick," Serys said flatly, shuddering herself. "But you've been a Healer how long? And this has only happened once?"

"This particular violation? Yes. Others? I've tended witches as a Healer whose males didn't want to be a father—but for whatever reason didn't drink the contraceptive brew—and they lied to the witches about fully draining their Jewels. The babes died. I've seen that maybe a dozen times.

"Even if I were to take the risk of pregnancy—Jaenelle suspects the poison has shortened my life by perhaps decades and that pregnancy could cut my lifetime further—I don't think there's _any_ male I'd trust enough to drain my Jewels. Maybe Uncle Saetan. Morton, if he were…"

Now she broke out into all-out sobbing. Lucivar reached across her armchair and squeezed her hand. "We understand. I wish you'd told us about this before."

"Jaenelle knows," Karla said, sniffling, taking the handkerchief that Serys proffered to her, and used it to wipe her tears. "I couldn't—I couldn't tell anyone else. It was too much."

An awkward silence followed, until Lucivar glanced at the window. Karla noticed the sun dipping below the horizon. "Say," he said, "isn't it about time for dinner?"

"You lug," Serys teased. "Always thinking about food."

"You betcha. So, what's for dinner?"

Karla shrugged. "We—that is, Della, KaeAskavi, Hagen, and myself—let Cook surprise us. We dine together in a modestly sized room. It's not but a few minutes from dinner, I'd guess. I don't suppose I can toss you out the door on your asses, so would you like to join us?"

"An invitation fitting of a Queen," Lucivar said dryly.

"Kiss kiss," Karla retorted.

Serys brightened. "I'd love to see these people I have heard so much about, but never met."

A snort escaped Karla, and she shook her head. "If we're lucky, it's a good day."

"If we're not?"

"Then Mother Night knows what deviant scheme Della has imagined this time. I stopped keeping count a long time ago. The girl is mischievous as can be."

"Can't be that mischievous. She's not Eyrien," Lucivar commented.

Karla rolled her eyes.

"How old is she?" Serys asked. "You said she was a child, but when I saw her with Prince Hagen, she looked as though she were beginning to enter womanhood."

"Fourteen," Karla replied cautiously.

Serys's eyes bulged so much Karla thought they'd fall out of her skull. "That's not a child!"

Lucivar interjected, with a hint of dry humor in his voice, "Don't bother. Once Karla's latched onto an idea, there's no prying it out of her thick skull."

"Stay out of this, prick," Karla snarled. "Della is _my child_ , and I'm not going to force her to grow up too early like I had to! She has _years_ before she reaches the age of majority."

Serys looked at her with decided sympathy, and Karla, rage roaring through her, hated her in that moment. There were no emotions she hated more than sympathy and pity.

"With respect, my Lady," Serys began carefully, "Della is of an age where she might not wish to be treated like a child anymore. In a few years, she'll be old enough for her Virgin Night, after all."

Karla snarled, fury running red in her vision. "Only if those involved are thrice-damned sadists. The Virgin Night is most commonly performed between the ages of fifteen, and even that's rare, and eighteen. Remember, until Terreille's corruption spread to Kaeleer, we didn't _have_ the need to fear that our witches would be at risk of violent rape from the very moment they began to show even the slightest signs of womanhood."

Serys grimaced. "I grew up in Hayll. I can't say as I'd recommend it, but maybe things have changed since that bitch Dorothea and her tainted minions were destroyed. Father was a traveling merchant when he met my mother in Hayll."

Lucivar didn't even bother to cough or make some indication he was about to speak, just jumped in like the reckless, arrogant Eyrien that he was. "Karla, she's got a point. Della's old enough that she needs to be properly socialized—especially since she's a Queen and will one day rule."

"Like _you're_ one to talk about proper socialization," she growled. _Is this some kind of sick game of good witch, bad Warlord Prince? Because, by the Darkness, it's not going to work on me._ "I already said I'd start teaching Della the necessities involved in statesmanship and ruling a Court. But I'll chop and dump the heads of _every_ male in my Court in Uncle Saetan's study before I let _anyone_ try to push her into her Virgin Night."

Lucivar arched an eyebrow. "While that's an amusing image, I doubt Saetan would appreciate the mess. Besides, don't you think Della might object to her adopted father being beheaded for the crime of being born with a cock?"

"I didn't mean Hagen, idiot," Karla snapped, wishing at the moment that she could knock him to the ground with those precious sticks of his. She'd been able to, once, but not since the assassination attempt. "He'll be an exception. And KaeAskavi's male, but he's kindred. He has no interest in Della in that way."

Lucivar opened his mouth to speak again, while Serys remained quiet, observing the two, but the Eyrien's stomach chose that precise moment to make a loud, rumbling growl. His expression turned annoyed. "We'll finish this charming talk later. I forgot to eat this morning, and—"

Karla eyed him suspiciously. "Bullshit. You never forget to eat."

"True, but that's all the explanation you're going to get."

Serys spoke up, quietly. "I didn't want to say anything, but it's growing late, and to be perfectly truthful, Lady Karla, I feel like I could eat three grown Warlord's worth of food in one sitting."

Angry as she still was, Karla had to admit that was an impressive comparison. While not to the same extreme as Warlord Princes, Warlords, the male equivalent to witches, burned fuel in both tremendous capacity and considerable nutritional value, to boot. Karla couldn't imagine eating near that much at once, at least not without her guts rebelling in an overly memorable fashion afterward.

Lucivar leaned in. "She's not joking. I've seen her compete with me for fuel."

"Except I consider food to be more than fuel," Serys replied sardonically.

Karla took a few calming breaths, letting the anger drain away. It _was_ getting late, and even if she might not care about the witch's hunger—although, even though she didn't give a shit about politeness, it wouldn't look good to refuse a guest a solid meal. _And Jaenelle_ did _send her,_ Karla reminded herself, steeling herself to have a terse conversation with her best friend the next time they spoke.

"I hate it when you're right," Karla grumbled at Lucivar as she struggled to her feet, putting her weight on her cane, body trembling. She put the hand that wasn't clutching her cane for dear life against her hip and glanced back and forth between the two. "Prince Hagen and Della are probably wondering where I am. Lady Serys, you're welcome to join us as a guest. Lucivar, will you be staying for dinner?"

Lucivar shook his head. "Marian has something fancy she's making tonight. I got shooed out of the eyrie, otherwise I'd ruin the surprise. If I don't get my ass home, Marian will have my hide."

Karla said tartly, "A Lucivar-skin rug sounds like a great idea."

"Only if we make one out of Karla to match," he shot back. "By the Darkness, you're bitchier than usual. Did KaeAskavi piss in your morning coffee?"

"You've known a long time I'm a bitch," she retorted, feeling less on edge, less ready to start blasting people. Lucivar never treated her any different after she lost the use of her legs—if anything, he gave her more shit than before, and she gave as good as she got. Even if she'd never love any male like she loved Morton, Lucivar was the annoying older brother she'd never had. "Get yourself home. Give Marian my best, and give that little hellion you call a son a kiss from his Auntie Karla."

Lucivar chuckled. "I'll let Marian handle that part. Daemonar's getting old enough he's not as comfortable with kisses from his father. Enjoy your dinner, ladies, and for my sanity's sake, please don't decide to repaint the walls with blood."

Karla snorted. "Like I'd do that without inviting you first. Off with you, now. Kiss kiss."

The Eyrien smirked, that arrogant look never leaving his face, and nodded to both witches. "I'll be back in a week to check in—and before you complain, that's by Jaenelle's request. Neither of you is stupid enough to think I'd disobey an order from my Queen."

 _Shit,_ Karla thought as Lucivar turned and left the room. Once Lucivar got something set in his mind, prying it out was near impossible—even for Jaenelle, unless she made it an order as Queen. She didn't do that anymore. Well, not much. There were exceptions. But since she'd sent Serys, the chances of that happening were beyond nil.

With a soft sigh, she turned to Serys. "Shall we hobble our way to the dinner table?"

Serys smiled with a surprising bright quality to it, as if the vicious back-and-forth hadn't even happen. Briefly, Karla wondered if the witch was insane—and immediately remembered that _anyone_ who spent any amount of time, much less an entire summer, with the SaDiablos wouldn't be intimidated by much at all. "Sounds great to me. Lead the way."

 _On the bright side, at least I won't have to ask_ her _to slow down,_ Karla considered as she left her sitting room, with far too many thoughts weighing heavy on her mind. At this rate, a nice stiff drink would be in order.

Or several.


End file.
